Kissed and spellbound

Neither cheerful nor solemn nor grieving, as if fallen from skies dark and far, you're the song of betrothal I'm weaving, and my mad, and my reckless, my star. Turn the night of your face to me now, let me into those eyes, dark and slow, to the black of your Eastern-dark brows, to your arms — let me in, let me home. Kissed to silence, bewitched and enchanted, wed to the wind of the fields long ago, wrapped in chains that were never once planted — oh my priceless, my woman, my own I will lay my head down on your knees, and I'll clutch them with a furious might, and with tears, and with verses like these, I will burn you, my kind one, my light. Turn the night of your face to me now, let me into those eyes, dark and slow, to the black of your Eastern-dark brows, to your arms — let me in, let me home. Kissed to silence, bewitched and enchanted, wed to the wind of the fields long ago, wrapped in chains that were never once planted — oh my priceless, my woman, my own Whoa-oh — are those chains even real? Whoa-oh — my priceless, my own. What won't happen will fade and be gone, what's forgotten will never come true — then why are you crying, my beautiful one? Or is it a dream I've been dreaming of you... Kissed to silence, bewitched and enchanted, wed to the wind of the fields long ago, wrapped in chains that were never once planted — oh my priceless, my woman, my own Whoa-oh — are those chains even real? Whoa-oh — my priceless, my own! Whoa-oh — are those chains even real? Whoa-oh — my priceless, my own! My priceless... my woman... my own.